


Ridin' Palominos

by HufflepuffHorizon



Category: Newsies (1992), Newsies - All Media Types, Newsies!: the Musical - Fierstein/Menken
Genre: Adoptive Parent Medda Larkson | Medda Larkin, Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Brotherly Love, Brothers, Crutchie & Jack Kelly Are Siblings, Crutchie (Newsies) Needs a Hug, Fluff and Angst, Friendship, Gay Newsies, Hospitals, Hurt/Comfort, I rated it T for language because Spot says the F word, M/M, Major Character Injury, Modern Era, Protective Siblings, cue scandalised gasps from the audience
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-11-25
Updated: 2020-11-25
Packaged: 2021-03-09 22:02:05
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 9
Words: 16,074
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27713113
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/HufflepuffHorizon/pseuds/HufflepuffHorizon
Summary: "'Maybe,' piped up a little voice at the back of his mind. 'If you’re worried enough to be calling the doctor, then it’s about time you told Jack about-'Crutchie shoved that idea down to be forgotten before he had even finished thinking it."Ever since he started dating Davey, Jack had been happier than Crutchie had ever seen him. His brother finally had something real to believe in, and the pain of the past was finally behind him. So... Maybe it was best if Crutchie didn't tell him or Medda just yet. After all, his leg wasn't bothering him that much...
Relationships: Crutchie & Jack Kelly, David Jacobs/Jack Kelly, Spot Conlon/Racetrack Higgins
Comments: 29
Kudos: 47





	1. Chapter 1

Crutchie bit his lip, dawdling, staring at his phone. Then he dialled the number before he could change his mind.  
  
“Dr Meyer’s office.”  
  
“Uh, hey, hi.” Crutchie cleared his throat, annoyed that his voice had come out in a nervous squeak. “Um, I got a question about... Y’know, hospital tests and stuff.”  
  
“Are you one of Dr Meyer’s patients?” The voice was brisk, clipped and unfamiliar, which wasn’t really helping the squirming feeling in his chest.  
  
“Uh, yeah, a while back.” Crutchie drummed his fingers against his crutch, propped against the arm of the couch. “I was just wonderin’... Y’know, if I wanted to schedule a check-up or somethin’, just run some tests so we could make sure everythin’s normal... Um, could I come and do that on my own? If I’m under eighteen, that is. Without havin’ any guardian or nothin’ involved?”  
  
Crutchie heard an impatient sigh in his ear. “Name?”  
  
“Oh, no,” Crutchie said hurriedly. “I’m not lookin’ to book an appointment or nothin’, just... Asking for a friend.”  
  
“Consent from a parent or guardian is required for the treatment of minors, I’m afraid,” the voice informed him, rather coldly.  
  
Crutchie felt his stomach lurch nastily.  
  
“Right. Right, yeah, I kinda figured that, but I wanted to just check. Sorry to bother ya. And thank you, thanks a whole lot.”  
  
Unless he was imagining things, the voice was a smidge more sympathetic now. “I’m sure we could make some arrangements if you could-“  
  
“No! No.” Crutchie swallowed. “No need. Thank you anyway. I’ll tell my friend... I’ll tell him all the things you just said. Thanks. Bye.”  
  
He hung up and immediately dropped the phone, as though expecting the unfriendly receptionist to lunge out of the screen and drag him to Dr Meyer’s office.  
  
And that was that. Nothing he could do.  
  
_Maybe, piped up a little voice at the back of his mind. If you’re worried enough to be calling the doctor, then it’s about time you told Jack about-_  
  
Crutchie shoved that idea down to be forgotten before he had even finished thinking it.  
  
Still, he had been making excuses to himself for a week now before he had eventually swallowed his pride and screwed up the courage to make that call.  
  
_Aw, I’m sure I just strained it a little today or somethin’. It’ll be good as new tomorrow.  
  
It must just be from when I went to Specs’ place on Sunday- his apartment block has a lot of stairs. Nothin’ to worry about.  
  
It doesn’t even hurt that much, really. Just a little ache. Nothin’ I can’t handle._  
  
But it wasn’t normal, for his leg to be hurting as much as it was. Not that it was all that bad, really, but it _had_ been a week. And way back when, Dr Meyer had told him to let her know right away if there were any changes.  
  
Crutchie knew all he had to do was say the word to his brother and he would be hauled off to the hospital without a second thought. One mention of there maybe being something wrong with his bad leg and he could just picture the way Jack’s face would tighten. He’d seen that expression on Jack’s face before. He’d been hoping he wouldn’t ever see it again.  
  
And then there was Medda. The angel who had been sacrificing for him and Jack ever since she adopted them. One conversation with Medda and she would be bundling him into the car to see Dr Meyer right away. She wouldn’t even say a word about money, but Crutchie wasn’t an idiot. He knew that the American healthcare system sucked and you didn’t just check in and get better for free. The thought of hospital bills piling up on Medda’s doorstep the way they had six years ago made him feel sick with guilt already. It wasn’t like Medda couldn’t afford it- she had plenty of spare cash to throw around- but still, she had worked her ass off for every dime. She shouldn’t have to spend that hard-earned money on him, especially when he wasn’t even sure there was actually anything properly wrong.  
  
So yeah. All he had to do was say the word and he could make everything worse for two of the people he loved most in the world, just when things were starting to go right. Simple as that.  
  
“No, thank you,” Crutchie said out loud to the blank screen of his phone. He hadn’t been expecting an answer, so when he heard a voice he nearly jumped out of his skin.  
  
“First sign of crazy, y’know. Talkin’ to yourself.”  
  
Crutchie looked over his shoulder and laughed. “Jeez, ya scared me! I never even heard the front door open!”  
  
Jack bounded into the room with Davey Jacobs a couple steps behind, and if Crutchie had had any doubts left about keeping his secret, they evaporated seeing the look on his brother’s face. He was glowing. Davey had done what he always did- Crutchie didn’t understand how, but he filled Jack with a sort of warmth and light that beamed out of him and caught everybody else up in it too. Like some sort of contagious disease- but a nice one that made you all happy. It was nice to see Jack like that, all lit up like a lovesick fool.  
  
And that was why he couldn’t say anything.  
  
“Hello, Crutchie,” Davey smiled at him. “How’s that history project of yours comin’ along?”  
  
“Lousy,” Crutchie replied cheerfully. “You want me to get you some water or somethin’, Dave?”  
  
“Nah, no need, thanks. I’m not stickin’ around, just droppin’ Jack off.”  
  
Crutchie pressed his hands against his eyes. “Alright, I’m officially closin’ my eyes. If you two want to have some big passionate goodbye, now’s the time. Or do you want me to give you two some privacy?”  
  
“Yeah, that’s real funny, kid,” he could practically hear Jack rolling his eyes and smiling. “‘Scuse us while we go and die of laughter.”  
  
“Wow, tough room.” Crutchie peeked through his fingers just in time to see Davey and Jack break away from a kiss.  
  
“Love you,” Davey murmured into Jack’s hair.  
  
Jack’s smile widened. “Love you more.”  
  
Crutchie opened his mouth to make a teasing comment, then thought better of it.  
  
Then Davey was gone and Crutchie had to yank his bad leg out of the way to stop it from being squashed as Jack bounced over the back of the sofa and landed in a heap on the cushions.  
  
Crutchie laughed. “Someone’s in a good mood. Careful, people might start thinkin’ that the great, tough Jack Kelly is actually just a big romantic sucker.”  
  
Jack snorted. “Yeah, we can’t have that.” He leaned over Crutchie to grab the remote and turned on the TV. “What’s you been doin’ since ya got home, anyway? Just sittin’ on the couch doin’ nothin’? Talkin’ to Mr Nobody?”  
  
Crutchie hoped his smile wasn’t too strained. Still, over the years he’d gotten pretty good at smiling when he didn’t particularly feel like smiling. “Homework.”  
  
“Uh huh.” Jack raised an eyebrow. “I may be a romantic sucker, Crutch, but I ain’t stupid.”  
  
“I was! I’ve been workin’ real hard.”  
  
Jack chuckled, but thankfully he didn’t ask any more questions. They sat in comfortable quiet for almost the whole of _Tangled_ \- which Crutchie insisted was a cinematic masterpiece and Jack only pretended to hate- until they heard the sound of the front door banging open dramatically and several bags of groceries being forced through it.  
  
“That you, Medda?” Jack hopped up from the sofa to go and stick his head in the hallway, then disappeared from view to help Medda with her shopping bags. Crutchie followed, grappling with his crutch and only wincing a little when a jolt of pain shot up his leg.  
  
“There are my boys!” Medda beamed at them, struggling to shut and lock the door with her arms still full. “How was school? How was the date, Jack?”  
  
Jack shrugged, grinning as he ducked into the kitchen to put away some of the shopping. “It was alright.”  
  
He wasn’t fooling anyone, pretending to be all casual. Medda shook her head and winked at Crutchie, who smiled back.  
  
“Lemme help ya with the rest of those, Medda-“  
  
“Oh honey, don’t be silly. You go and sit yourself down.”  
  
That was when Crutchie realised the other reason why he didn’t want Jack and Medda to know about his leg. He didn’t want people to treat him like he couldn’t do anything. That was one of the things he had hated most last time, the way his friends kept trying to carry his bag at school or how Jack hovered around the bottom of the staircase when he was going to bed to make sure he could get up alright. He couldn’t go back to being treated like just some helpless kid with a crutch. He couldn’t.  
  
“Medda, I got it,” he insisted, stumbling over in his hurry and gently prising the grocery bags away from his mother.  
  
“Charlie, be careful-“  
  
“It’s okay, I’m helpin’-“  
  
Crutchie most definitely wasn’t helping. Because of course, at that moment he tripped over his crutch and the two grocery bags propped in his arms tumbled to the floor.  
  
Jack popped out of the kitchen to see what the commotion was about and doubled over with laughter- so in all fairness he wasn’t being particularly helpful either.  
  
“That wasn’t cause of my crutch!” Crutchie defended himself hurriedly. He crouched down awkwardly and picked up the pieces, grimacing at the milk stain spreading across the carpet. “It were just me being clumsy!”  
  
Medda burst out laughing and pulled him to his feet. “Don’t you worry about it, baby. No use crying over spilt milk.” Laughing harder at her own joke, she vanished into the kitchen to get a towel. Still chortling, Jack disappeared back into the living room.  
  
Crutchie’s leg twinged painfully again and he gripped his crutch, but it wasn’t quite as bad that time. See, it was getting better all by itself. Nothing to worry about- it wasn’t like he was dying. There was no point in making a fuss about it.  
  
No use crying over spilt milk.


	2. Chapter 2

Crutchie couldn’t sleep that night. His mind kept drifting to his first time at the hospital, and the harder he tried to push it away the more vivid it was. His mind kept straying to one memory in particular, when Jack had stayed with him in the hospital room for hours, telling him the familiar stories about Santa Fe.  
  
Santa Fe.  
  
Jeez, Crutchie hadn’t thought about Jack’s daydream town for quite a while, but Jack used to talk about it all the time. Talked about them getting a train out West to New Mexico and starting new lives, ever since they were young enough to believe that starting a new life was something anybody could do. Crutchie loved listening to those stories, he really did, but lying there in the cold, blank hospital bed with pain shooting through his leg, he had started to have doubts.  
  
He could remember how mad Jack had gotten. Not the kind of mad he would get when Crutchie was being too loud when he was trying to talk to Katherine on the phone, or when Crutchie had spilled water over a painting that Jack had been working on all week. It was a kind of mad that nine-year-old Crutchie, dazed and sleepy, couldn’t really understand.  
  
Jack had been curled up next to him on the white sheets, which wasn’t really supposed to be allowed, but the nurses hadn’t told him off for it yet. He was holding Crutchie’s hand- _Charlie’s_ hand back then, in the days before his infamous nickname- and telling him the same story he had since forever.  
  
“You and me, Charlie,” he had whispered. “We’ll be in Santa Fe real soon, once they let ya outta the hospital. And it’ll be clean and green and pretty, and we could bring Medda and Kath and all of the fellas-“  
  
“Jack,” Crutchie had said quietly. “I don’t know if I could come to Santa Fe any more.”  
  
Jack paused for an endless moment, letting Charlie’s treasonous words sink in. The silence was so thick that Crutchie imagined he could see it swirling in the air between them like smoke.  
  
“What d’you mean?” Jack asked eventually.  
  
“It’s just... My leg.”  
  
“What about your leg?”  
  
“I can’t come to Santa Fe if my leg’s all messed up, can I?”  
  
Jack let go of his hand so he could sit up and look at him properly. “You’re in a hospital, doofus. This is where they make people better. Your leg ain’t gonna be messed up by the time ya get to leave.”  
  
“Jack, I know about hospitals,” Crutchie said softly. “I know that people don’t always get better.”  
  
Something flared in Jack’s eyes. “That’s a stupid thing to say. Of course you’re gonna get better.”  
  
“But Dr Meyer said about surgery-“  
  
“I don’t care what Dr Meyer said about surgery!”  
  
“Jack, don’t be mad!” Charlie stared at him, bewildered. “I’m not sayin’ _you_ can’t go to Santa Fe. You can still go wherever ya want!”  
  
“No, we’re both goin’,” said Jack stubbornly. “As soon as your leg is better.”  
  
“But Medda was cryin’ yesterday. After Dr Meyer talked to her in private, she came back and she was cryin’.”  
  
Jack scrambled off the bed and started pacing. “Charlie, stop it!”  
  
“Stop what?”  
  
“Sayin’ all of that stuff!” Jack snapped. “You’ve got it all wrong, you’ll see. Besides, you always said ya wanted to come with me!”  
  
“I do!”  
  
“Well then, I don’t see why there’s gotta be a problem.”  
  
There was a long silence. Jack was breathing heavily. The idea that Santa Fe could be taken away from them had hit him hard, and later Crutchie would start to realise why.  
  
In the short eleven years of his life, Jack Kelly had been through hell. He had lost his parents before he was old enough to know them- all anybody could tell him about them was that his mother was Puerto-Rican, and his father had lived in a beautiful town in New Mexico before Manhattan sucked the life out of him. He had lived with an abusive foster carer, Snyder, for a whole year, and even now Snyder was locked away for good, the pain and the fear and the dark, shadowed memories had never really left. They still hung over him like a shroud, ready to smother him if he let his guard down.  
  
He met Charlie in the foster system when he was six, and Medda took them in. Jack had started seeing a therapist, and Charlie watched him start to heal as the months and the years slipped by- still a little broken, but he was slowly gaining back the light that the world had stolen from him, little by little. Then the two of them had been adopted, and just when Jack had started to relax and believe that maybe he could be happy in his new life, Charlie had landed himself in hospital. So no wonder he clung so hard to Santa Fe, this wonderful little town where his father had once been happy. It was more than just a dot on a map or some story that kept him entertained, it was his lifeline. It gave him something to believe in when the world was cruel.  
  
And Jack needed Charlie to believe in him too, so he always had and always would. He just wasn’t sure he believed that Santa Fe was some perfect, magical place that could fix all their problems anymore- but Jack couldn’t hear him say that. Santa Fe was all he had.  
  
“Jack?” Charlie’s fingers wound themselves into the sheet. “Dr Meyer said... I don’t think my leg will ever be the same as it was before.”  
  
Jack looked like he wanted to argue again, then sighed. “We can still go to Santa Fe, kid. I promise.”  
  
Still, he didn’t look so sure of himself anymore.  
  
“Really?” Crutchie tried to keep his voice from sounding as doubtful as he felt.  
  
“C’mon, ya really think I would ever let ya down?”  
  
“Course not. Never.”  
  
Jack sat down again at the foot of his bed. “I bet nobody would worry about your leg in Santa Fe. Ya could just ride around on one of those fancy horses- what’s they called? Them blonde ones?”  
  
“Aren’t they just called horses?”  
  
“What? No, it’s a certain type of horse. They have proper names. It’ll come back to me.”  
  
“I’m pretty sure horses are just horses.”  
  
Jack laughed, starting to rise back up into the clouds again. “Well, whatever they are, you’ll be ridin’ one. And y’know, I bet all that fresh air will do ya good. If the hospital don’t fix your messed-up leg, then I bet Santa Fe will.”  
  
Charlie smiled sadly. “Yeah. Maybe you’re right.”  
  
And that was where the memory ended, blurred together with all of the rest of his time in the hospital. It all felt like one big grey hopeless smudge, but he remembered it being one of the worst times of his life. All he had wanted was to be back at home, running through Madison Square Park with Jack and Kath and Race, laughing into the wind as they left their troubles in the dust.  
  
Frustrated, Crutchie opened his eyes, grabbed his crutch, and hobbled out of the room. He needed some fresh air, just until he got sleepy. Normally Jack would come with him up to Medda’s roof and they would sit there together- it was _Jack’s_ secret place, after all, not Crutchie’s- but Crutchie could near him snoring loudly as he passed his room. He smirked, trying to be as quiet as possible as he clunked up the next flight of stairs.  
  
Sitting with his legs dangling over the edge of the roof, the wind whistling through his hair and the entirety of Manhattan spread out in front of him like a map of constellations, he felt calmer. If he squinted, the thousands of streetlights almost looked like stars.  
  
“It ain’t Santa Fe, exactly,” he murmured. “But it’s still pretty nice.”  
  
Talking to himself again. Maybe he really was going a bit crazy.  
  
Nowadays, Jack didn’t talk about Santa Fe much. In fact, Crutchie hadn’t heard him mention it since he started dating Davey. And that was a good thing, even though Crutchie did love those Santa Fe stories. It meant that Jack had something real to believe in, not just a dream. Jack Kelly didn’t need a lifeline to keep him from drowning any more, because Davey had pulled him to shore.  
  
It wasn’t perfect, of course, and there were still ups and downs. There were still days where Jack would lock himself in his room and get lost in the shadows, but Crutchie could tell that things were better than they’d ever been. Jack was finally happy with his life just the way it was.  
  
And Crutchie was going to make sure it stayed that way.


	3. Chapter 3

Maybe going up to the roof hadn’t been such a good idea after all. Crutchie had lost track of the time he had spent there last night, watching the streetlights and listening to the constant clamouring of a city that never slept. By the time he had stumbled back down and collapsed onto his pillow, it felt like he barely closed his eyes before he was woken up again the next morning by the needles of pain jabbing at his leg. Still, he dragged himself out of bed and grabbed his crutch- he couldn’t just lie there like a lump and feel sorry for himself. He had to be doing _something_.  
  
When Medda sleepily emerged in the kitchen and was greeted with the sight of Crutchie banging pots and pans around, covered in flour and announcing that he was making breakfast, she tried (with a hint of desperation) to coax him into sitting down and letting her make him some toast. When Crutchie stubbornly fiddled with the knobs on the oven and told her brightly that he was making pancakes, she hastily poured the last of the cereal into a bowl and said, “That’s so sweet, honey, but I ain’t really in a pancake mood”.  
  
Crutchie was pretty sure that he was a fabulous cook, but he suspected that everyone else disagreed and just didn’t have the heart to tell him. Still, it wasn’t his fault if everybody he cooked for was a picky eater and didn’t appreciate his culinary talent.  
  
Jack danced (badly) down the stairs, fully dressed and humming noisily, then froze in the doorway at the sight of Crutchie standing at the oven. “Oh, ya made breakfast?”  
  
“Yep,” replied Crutchie, waving a spoon at him. “Pancakes!”  
  
“That’s great!” said Jack with very false enthusiasm, then sat gingerly at the table as though he had just been selected to be in the Hunger Games.  
  
“We’re out of cereal,” said Crutchie helpfully when Jack’s eyes flicked longingly to the kitchen cupboard.  
  
“Ah.” Jack cleared his throat. “Well, lucky ya made pancakes then, huh?”  
  
Crutchie proudly deposited his creation on Jack’s plate and honestly, he didn’t understand what all the fuss was about. The pancake was only very slightly burned.  
  
Jack drowned his breakfast in maple syrup. “Hey Crutch, I was thinkin’ you and I could go to Central Park today. What d’ya think?”  
  
Crutchie laughed and sat down with his own pancake. “Lemme guess. Davey’s busy today?”  
  
“Hm? I dunno,” said Jack innocently. “What does Davey have to do with us goin’ to Central Park?”  
  
Crutchie tapped his chin, frowning as though deep in thought. “Oh yeah, that’s right, didn’t he tell us that he was havin’ a day out with his family today?”  
  
“Wow, I don’t remember that,” Jack smiled angelically. “What a weird coincidence.”  
  
Crutchie nodded, trying to keep a straight face. “And isn’t it Kath’s first day of her reporter internship thing at _The Sun_? So she must be pretty busy too...”  
  
“Okay, okay, ya got me!” Jack threw up his hands in defeat. “Davey and Kath are both busy. You’re my option three. Are ya satisfied?”  
  
“I knew it,” Crutchie said smugly. “Nothin’ gets past a world-class detective like me.”  
  
“Take it easy, Sherlock, you’ve got flour on your nose. But for real, kid, I do wanna hang out with ya. So, are ya up for a day out with your favourite brother?”  
  
Crutchie grinned. “Well, gee, how could I possibly turn down bein’ the great Jack Kelly’s Plan C?”  
  
“Alright, smartass,” the great Jack Kelly rolled his eyes and ruffled his brother’s hair. “Get the rest of that flour off your face and be ready in fifteen.”  
  
So Crutchie finished his pancake- and in his humble opinion it tasted delicious- and hopped upstairs. The pain in his leg was less intense already. Nothing to worry about.  
  
By the time they emerged off the subway into the bright sunlight, Crutchie was having so much fun that he almost didn’t mind about his leg at all.  
  
Almost.  
  
“So...” Jack nudged Crutchie in the ribs, wearing a knowing smile as they sprawled on the lawn. “Big day comin’ up, huh? Got any bright ideas?”  
  
“What big day?” Crutchie asked, confused. “Is there somethin’ you’re not tellin’ me, Jack? Did Davey finally pop the question?”  
  
He grabbed Jack’s fingers, pretending to examine them for an engagement ring. Jack elbowed him again, chuckling.  
  
“No, ya doof. Don’t tell me you’ve forgotten your own birthday! That’s gotta be a new low.”  
  
Oh. _Oh_. Crutchie actually _had_ forgotten, but Jack was right- he was turning fifteen in just two weeks. He waited to feel the familiar birthday excitement creep up on him, but instead he was greeted with heavy, colourless dread. He didn’t even know why he felt all weird about it, but he did know that the last thing he wanted to do this year was celebrate his birthday.  
  
“Oh yeah,” he said hollowly. “Right.”  
  
“Kath has a bunch of birthday ideas she wants to run by you,” continued Jack happily. “Wouldn’t be surprised if she were more excited than you are! And Davey said that he, Les and Sarah could make a cake-“  
  
“Uh, Jack?” Crutchie tapped his fingers anxiously against his crutch. “Thanks and all, I really do appreciate it, but... I’m not sure I really want any birthday plans this year.”  
  
Jack blinked. “Wait, really?”  
  
“And I’ll tell Kath and Davey thank you too,” Crutchie said, the words tumbling out clumsily. “I’ll call them when we get home and tell them. It was real thoughtful of them to start makin’ plans.”  
  
“Why not?” Jack asked, ignoring his rambling.  
  
Crutchie shrugged, fidgeting. “Dunno, really. I’m not in the birthday mood. Ya don’t even have to worry about presents or nothin’, I don’t mind about them neither.”  
  
Jack looked so appalled that Crutchie wondered nervously if he’d gone too far. “What’s the matter with ya, kid? It ain’t like you to say no to presents. And you love your birthday, usually.”  
  
“Ha,” said Crutchie weakly, even though nobody had said anything funny.  
  
“Well, your present’s already a work in progress, so there ain’t nothin’ ya can do about that. But for real, ya don’t want nothin’ on your birthday? Nothin’ at all?”  
  
“It’s not such a big deal,” Crutchie argued. “Lotsa people don’t celebrate their birthday much.”  
  
“We can’t just do _nothin’_ for your birthday,” Jack insisted. “It’s a big one this year!”  
  
This time, Crutchie really did laugh a little. “C’mon Jack, I’m turnin’ fifteen, not fifty. What’s so special about fifteen?”  
  
“ _All_ birthdays are special, Crutch!” said Jack impatiently. “And ya need to make the most of ‘em before ya get too old for all the candles to fit on the cake.”  
  
“But the candles _didn’t_ all fit on the cake last year,” Crutchie pointed out. “We nearly burned down Medda’s kitchen.”  
  
“That’s not the point.” Jack folded his arms. “Anyway, good luck explainin’ to everyone that ya don’t want any presents.”  
  
Crutchie paused, picturing Katherine’s face if he told her he was cancelling his birthday. “They’re not gonna listen to me, are they?”  
  
“Course they’re not.” Jack gave him a long look. “Listen, Crutchie, are ya sure you’re alright? You’re not actin’ like yourself. Anythin’ ya wanna tell me?”  
  
Crutchie shook his head much too quickly, but when he spoke he was pretty sure he sounded convincing. “I’m fine, Jack. Promise.”  
  
Jack still looked a little suspicious- and if Jack got the idea in his head that something really was wrong, Crutchie knew he wouldn’t stop poking and prodding until he found out what it was and fixed it. He concentrated on keeping his smile plastered to his face- he _was_ fine. He really was.  
  
“How bout Jacobi’s, then?” Jack ventured. “It wouldn’t be anythin’ too fancy or nothin’, just us and the gang at the deli for lunch. Whatcha think?”  
  
“Yeah,” Crutchie nodded, mainly to get Jack off his back. “Yeah, that sounds great.”  
  
Jack smiled, finally looking satisfied. “There ya go,” he said, shaking Crutchie’s shoulder. “That wasn’t so bad, was it?”  
  
It wasn’t bad at all, actually. Jack and Crutchie went to the deli with their friends all the time, the whole lot of them crowding Jacobi’s tables and lounging over the chairs and trying to spend as little as possible. If he wanted, Crutchie could pretend it was just a normal day and everything would be alright.  
  
“Thanks, Jack,” he said quietly.  
  
Jack laughed. “But next year, kid, there’s no gettin’ out of it. We’ll have to go all out for your sweet sixteen. I’m talkin’ live bands, ice sculptures, enough snacks to last us a week...”  
  
Crutchie couldn’t help but grin. “Absolutely. Next year.”  
  
The two of them fell into easy silence. Jack leaned back contentedly on the grass, watching the crowds pass by, then pulled out his sketchbook. Crutchie watched as his pencil trailed lazily across the page; after a couple of messy strokes, the trees and face shapes and figures of Central Park were already starting to come to life. Not exactly as a copy of reality, though. Jack never really drew the world in the way it was. He always found sneaky little ways to make it look brighter, better, more magical, even if it was just a pencil sketch. Crutchie knew it still disappointed him, sometimes, that the real world didn’t always match up.  
  
In Jack’s Central Park, the people didn’t just walk... They danced. Even now, there was a little piece of Santa Fe still inside him, spilling out onto his drawings and painting them golden.


	4. Chapter 4

Jangling the coins in his pocket, Crutchie followed his best friend into the arcade near the docks, blinking as the lights assaulted his eyes. Apart from the dance studio, it was one of Race’s favourite places in the whole world, which made sense; it was just like him, loud and chaotic and slightly obnoxious. He would often drag their friends there after school, and even though it was just him and Race this time, Crutchie felt like he deserved to celebrate. It was Friday, which meant he had made it through another whole week, and his leg was fine. Still pretty painful, but it hadn’t fallen off yet or anything. That had to count for something.  
  
“I love this place,” Race said happily as they dodged a gaggle of kids arguing over air hockey. “I brought Spot here just last weekend.”  
  
Crutchie snickered, picturing Race’s intimidating, grumpy boyfriend standing stone-faced next to the candy grabber while kids shrieked and lights twinkled around him. “I bet he loved that.”  
  
“It grew on him, actually,” Race grinned. “He got into an argument with this asshole twelve-year-old who tried to steal his tickets, and then the kid’s mom came and told us off. It was glorious.”  
  
“Aw, c’mon Racer. We were all asshole twelve-year-olds once.”  
  
“Not me,” Race argued, checking the nearest machine for loose change and pocketing it. “I was a real delight.”  
  
Crutchie raised his eyebrows, amused. “Yeah, you’ve always been a complete angel.”  
  
“Hey, the race cars are free!” Race’s face lit up and he gently pulled Crutchie over by the elbow. He shoved a couple of coins into the slot and gripped the wheel eagerly. “C’mon, Crutchie, make a wish.”  
  
This was how Racetrack Higgins had gotten his nickname. Whether it was Mario Kart or the dusty machines at the back of the arcade, if it involved a racetrack and a screen, Race could annihilate everyone. One of his traditions was to get everyone to make a wish before they started a race- if you won, that meant your wish would come true.  
  
Crutchie was pretty sure that racing games weren’t really supposed to involve wishes, but he knew from experience that if anybody pointed that out then Race would punch them lightly on the arm and call them a spoilsport. So even though he wasn’t really sure he believed in magical wishes, he laughed and closed his eyes.  
  
_I wish my leg was better, the way it was before._  
  
Crutchie’s eyes shot open, and he could feel himself turning red. Where had that even come from? What a stupid thing to think. His leg would never be better, and he had accepted that a long time ago. He had learned to make the best of a not-so-great situation. Why mess that up by dwelling on the past and wishing for things that had absolutely no chance of ever happening?  
  
“Ready, steady-“ Race slammed the START button. “Go!”  
  
Crutchie knew he had lost before he even started. Nobody beat Race at the race car game, not even if they clenched their fists around their steering wheel or pushed furiously on the accelerator with their good leg, or even if they had an impossible wish to win. So when he watched Race’s car on the screen blaze over the finish line a good distance in front of him, he wasn’t surprised- but he still felt the nasty weight of his heart sinking in his chest.  
  
_What are you so upset about?_ he scolded himself. _It was just a stupid wish, and you always knew it could never happen. What’s the point in moping around about it?_  
  
“Yes!” Race crowed, pumping his fists in the air in victory. “Eat my dust, Crutchie Morris!”  
  
With an effort, Crutchie grinned at him. “I swear ya have these things rigged, Mr Racetrack. Tell me honestly, how much are ya payin’ the arcade people so they make ya win all the time?”  
  
“Don’t taint my victory,” complained Race, who was now doing a celebratory dance- no matter how often he played, he still had yet to learn the art of being a gracious winner. “Ya don’t need to cheat when ya have unlimited skill!”  
  
“And modesty, of course,” said Crutchie wryly, picking up his crutch and standing up carefully.  
  
“Yeah, I’m also the best at modesty!” Race said, twirling. “And I’m even better at air hockey. Betcha a pack of gum that I can beat ya at that, too.”  
  
“You’re on.”  
  
By the time they had finally exhausted every game in the arcade and trudged wearily back outside, it was later than they’d thought and Crutchie’s leg ached at even the thought of walking back home. So when Race suggested they take the shortcut through the alley next to Jacobi’s Deli, Crutchie agreed. Halfway along the dark street, however, Crutchie froze, feeling his blood run cold.  
  
“Ya hear that?”  
  
“Huh?” Race stopped too, listening.  
  
It was quiet, but unmistakeable. Gasping, panicked sobs. Somewhere in the deserted shadows of the alley, somebody was crying.  
  
Race muttered something in Italian and sprang forward without a second thought, and Crutchie did his best to keep up. Two large, hulking figures loomed out of the darkness, towering over a boy on the ground who couldn’t have been more than ten. Crutchie’s stomach twisted. Even in the gloom, he could recognise the bullies immediately- he had seen them often enough swaggering through the hallways at school, spitting insults at his friends and shoving him aside when he was too slow walking with his crutch. Who else would be cruel enough to pick on a tiny kid?  
  
“Hey!” said Race, loudly.  
  
The Delancey brothers swivelled round, focusing on the new arrivals, and the boy tilted his tear-stained face into the light to look at them. He reminded Crutchie of Les Jacobs, which made his heart clench. He didn’t look hurt, just shaken, but all the same Crutchie would much rather the kid ran off home before he wound up with a black eye.  
  
“Well, well,” Morris Delancey said, his lip twitching. “If it isn’t a couple members of Cowboy Kelly’s entourage. Where’s the big, bad leader, huh?”  
  
“Ya better get goin’,” Crutchie said quietly to the kid.  
  
He didn’t need telling twice; he was racing away down the alley in the blink of an eye, hopefully to somewhere he could get a hug and a bar of chocolate. The Delanceys watched him go lazily, the way a couple of mean old cats would watch a mouse scurry into the floorboards, knowing they could tear it apart but not bothering to go to the effort.  
  
“Now look what ya did,” Oscar said mildly. “Just when we were about to have some fun.”  
  
“Yeah, sounds like a real riot,” snorted Race. “Two seniors beatin’ up a ten-year-old. That’s what I call fun.”  
  
“He was runnin’ his mouth,” snarled Morris.  
  
“You ever considered findin’ yourselves a hobby?” Race suggested. “Stamp collectin’, or somethin’? Or flower arrangin’ seems right up your street-”  
  
Morris grabbed his shirt and slammed him hard against the brick wall of the alley, his face curdling.  
  
“Leave him alone!” Crutchie grabbed Morris’ arm, but he was pushed away roughly. Oscar kicked him hard in his already-fragile leg and Crutchie hit the ground, his crutch clattering away down the alley. Pain exploded in his limb, worse than it had been since he was nine years old, and he couldn’t hold back a pathetic squeak.  
  
“ _Hey_!” Race started forward furiously, but Morris held him back, hooting with laughter.  
  
They were having their fun, alright. Still, Crutchie could tell the Delanceys were weighing up their options. Crutchie didn’t know if it was cowardice or just because they couldn’t be bothered with a challenge, but unless they had a reason they preferred easy targets: ten-year-old boys maybe, or kids with crutches. Yes, both of them were a couple years older, at least a head taller and probably a lot stronger, but they knew Racer was quick with his fists if he had to be.  
  
Oscar aimed another spiteful kick at Crutchie’s knee and then stepped over him towards his brother. Crutchie struggled to gather his shaking, aching legs underneath him and tried to stand up without support, panicking. They were going to hit Race. They were going to _hurt Race_.  
  
But then, thank god- Morris seemed to remember that Race was dating the terrifying and very protective Spot Conlon, who could probably wipe the floor with both of them at the same time if he wanted. He dropped Race’s shirt and stepped back, scowling.  
  
“C’mon,” he muttered to his brother, and the Delanceys prowled away into the darkness.  
  
Race leapt at Crutchie. “You alright?”  
  
“Yeah, you?” Crutchie gritted his teeth as Race helped him to his feet, leaning heavily against the wall.  
  
“Peachy.” Race retrieved the crutch and Crutchie took it gratefully. “But I’m gonna kill those creeps the next time I see ‘em. Who kicks someone in their _injured_ leg?”  
  
“Aw, forget it.” Crutchie limped forward, gripping the crutch tighter as his leg shrieked in pain. “Those two ain’t worth your time.”  
  
“You’re walkin’ all funny,” said Race accusingly. “Does it hurt?”  
  
“Nah, it’s fine. And I’m not walkin’ funny, this is how I usually walk.”  
  
“No, it’s not! Wait till Jackie hears about this. He’s gonna flip.”  
  
“Race!” Crutchie grabbed his friend’s arm in alarm. “Ya can’t tell Jack about this! Please, please don’t.”  
  
Race looked at him incredulously. “What d’ya mean, don’t tell Jack? Why the hell not?”  
  
“It ain’t worth it. I’m fine, and it’s just the Delancey brothers. They do this kinda stuff all the time. There’s no need to go round makin’ mountains outta molehills.”  
  
“But they hurt ya!”  
  
“I feel better already,” Crutchie lied. He walked forward, forcing himself to move faster. “See? No harm done.”  
  
Race frowned. “Crutchie...”  
  
“Seriously, Race, I’m alright. We don’t need to tell Jack nothin’.”  
  
“But-“  
  
“Please, Racer. Please, please, please?”  
  
Race sighed defeatedly. “If you really really don’t want me to, I won’t,” he said hesitantly. “But ya need to get some rest tonight, yeah? And call me if it gets any worse. Ya promise?”  
  
“I promise.” Crutchie threw his free arm around Race’s shoulders and squeezed. “Thank you, Race. I owe ya a million.”  
  
Race smirked a little. “Actually, you owe me a pack of gum, but I’ll let it slide just this once. C’mon, let’s getcha home.”


	5. Chapter 5

The next morning- yep, his leg had gotten noticeably worse. He didn’t know if it was because of the Delanceys or what; all he knew was that when he opened his eyes, it was barely even dawn yet and the pain made him want to hug his pillow and whimper. When the early sunshine crept in through a slit in his curtains, he forced himself downstairs, battling for optimism. It was always worst when he woke up anyway- it would calm down a bit soon. If he kept himself busy, he would forget all about it.  
  
He thought about maybe calling Race to tell him, like he said he would, then pushed the idea away. There was no need to freak him out. Crutchie just needed to distract himself and the aches would melt away like they weren’t even there.  
  
He did a lot of distracting himself over the next week. If it was particularly bad at school then he would just concentrate extra hard on the work, or bug Specs or Romeo or whoever was nearby to talk to him. If it was worse when he got home from school, he would bury himself in homework- Davey would’ve been proud. He even got that dumb history project finished. If he couldn’t sleep at night, he would wander back up to the roof. At this point, he probably spent more time up on Jack’s penthouse than Jack did.  
  
By the next Friday (which was a hard day if he was being honest with himself) he had gotten good at distracting himself. So good, in fact, that as he hobbled down the school corridor, he almost knocked over a floating pile of clipboards and paper folders with a pair of long legs sticking out from under it.  
  
“Aw jeez, I’m so sorry-“  
  
“Don’t worry, I’ve got it,” said the pile of folders in a familiar voice, wobbling dangerously.  
  
Crutchie blinked, trying to help steady it. “That you under there, Kath?”  
  
The paper shifted so that his brother’s best friend could poke her head round and smile at him. “The one and only! Oh crap... Could you get that for me, Crutchie?”  
  
“Uh huh.” Crutchie crouched with difficulty and picked up the folder that had slid off the top of the pile. It felt full to bursting, and that was only the _first_ one. “Jeez, Kath, whatcha got so much paper for?“  
  
“ _The Sun_!” said Katherine brightly. “I’ve been doing research and brainstorming since Saturday. They’ve given me my first real article to write!”  
  
“This is all for _The Sun_?” Crutchie asked incredulously, leaning heavily on his crutch and picking himself up. “You’ve only been at that internship thingy for two weeks!”  
  
“I know, I know, but I just had a ton of ideas and I couldn’t wait.” Katherine bounced excitedly and Crutchie lurched forwards to steady the papers as they trembled threateningly again. “It’s fantastic Crutchie, honestly. I feel like a real reporter!”  
  
Crutchie grinned at her. “You _are_ a real reporter! You’re the best writer I know! But still, it’s a bit mean of ‘em to be givin’ ya so much work this early.”  
  
“I love it,” Katherine said fervently. “And it’s only a matter of time before I get writer’s block so I need to get everything down before I forget it. Besides, I’m going to miss work tomorrow for your birthday, so I need to make up for that.”  
  
“Oh.” Crutchie shuffled uncomfortably. “Kath, ya really don’t hafta-“  
  
“Oh, shut up, Crutchie. I wouldn’t miss it, you know that! I still can’t believe you’re almost fifteen. I swear to god that you were seven just last week...”  
  
Crutchie giggled. “Ya sound like a grandma or somethin’.”  
  
“Hey!” Katherine tried to swat at him, then realised that was a bad idea and hastily caught her papers before they fell. “I may be getting old and grey, Charlie Morris, but I could still kick your ass. Are you excited for tomorrow?”  
  
Crutchie smiled a porcelain smile. “Yep. Super excited.”  
  
“I’ll bet! Listen, I wish I could talk more but I have to meet Jack and Davey so they can help me sort out this mess- Although knowing those two lovesick idiots, they’d be too busy making out to- _Crap_ , sorry, can you pass me that? Thank you... Anyway, see you around!”  
  
Crutchie watched her haul her mountain of research down the corridor. He loved Katherine to pieces but wow, she was hard to keep up with sometimes. Whenever you talked to her, her mind seemed to be everywhere at once.  
  
She had given him another distraction, though. For the rest of the day, his looming birthday was at the very front of his mind. It didn’t help that when he got home from school and walked into the living room, he was met with the sight of wrapping paper strewn over the carpet and Medda frantically shoving something under the sofa.  
  
“No, honey, don’t look, don’t look!”  
  
Crutchie closed his eyes obediently and immediately collided with the doorframe. “Ow. Hi, Medda. You’re home early.”  
  
“Did you see anything?” Medda was extremely strict about anything present-related being a surprise. She had gotten so upset one year when Jack had hunted around and found the stash of Christmas gifts that he had tried to give her his advent calendar as an apology- which probably would’ve been a more thoughtful gesture if he hadn’t already eaten all the chocolate inside it.  
  
“Nope, I didn’t see anythin’. I promise.”  
  
“Good.” Crutchie heard the crinkling of wrapping paper. “How was school, baby?”  
  
“Uh, fine. Did you get Jack’s text? He’s gonna be at Davey’s for dinner.”  
  
“Yes, I did,” Medda sighed happily. “We should invite Davey round here more often. That boy is an angel. He makes our Jack so happy.”  
  
Crutchie smiled. “Yeah, he does.”  
  
“Are you peeking, Charlie?”  
  
“No! I swear, I weren’t.”  
  
He heard Medda make a suspicious noise in the back of her throat, and the sound of sellotape against paper.  
  
“Well, don’t just stand there like a lemon. Get your phone, and just this once we can order a pizza. Eat it while we watch a movie or something.”  
  
“For real?”  
  
“Yes, for real! Just because it’s your birthday tomorrow and that means you get special treatment. Now, shoo while I finish this!”  
  
_Alright, alright_ , Crutchie thought to himself a while later as they sat on the sofa with steaming pizza boxes on their laps and _Hamilton_ playing on the TV. Maybe his birthday wasn’t such a bad thing this year after all.  
  
Before the first act was over, Medda had fallen asleep- which meant she must’ve been really tired, because Crutchie had _never_ seen her sleep through anything remotely theatre-ish before. Crutchie grabbed a blanket and tried to cover her up without waking her, but he must’ve been too loud or too clumsy because she opened her eyes drowsily and smiled at him.  
  
“Thank you, sweetie.”  
  
Crutchie turned his attention back to the screen, where Alexander Hamilton was singing about his son. Sometimes, he wondered what would’ve happened if he had never met Jack in that foster home. It was hard to imagine- Crutchie had barely been four years old, so he hardly remembered what it had been like before he knew his brother. But Medda would still have adopted Jack, and it would just be the two of them. Would their little family be all that different without Charlie? They would probably have a lot less stress on their shoulders. A Crutchie-sized amount of their worries would be gone if he wasn’t there.  
  
The thought always made his stomach drop miserably, so he tried not to think about it too much.  
  
Just when the finale started to play and the pair of them were starting to get even more emotional, the spell was broken by the sound of Jack hollering through the keyhole.  
  
“Hey, Medda! Crutch? I forgot my key, do ya mind lettin’ us in?”  
  
“Good lord,” Medda grumbled fondly, getting to her feet. “The boy’s going to disturb the whole neighbourhood.“  
  
“Don’t he know he could just ring the bell?” Crutchie asked as Jack banged on the door.  
  
Medda swept exasperatedly into the hall, and Crutchie heard the door click open.  
  
“Hi, Medda. Do I smell pizza?”  
  
“Jack, we literally just ate.”  
  
“David Jacobs! You haven’t graced our humble home with your presence enough lately! Come in, I’ll fix you a drink-”  
  
“Hey!” Jack whined as he wandered into the living room. “You guys watched _Hamilton_ without me?”  
  
“Like you ain’t got the entire musical memorised anyway.” Crutchie rolled his eyes. “Heya, Davey.”  
  
“Hey, Crutch.” Davey sat next to him and nudged him in the ribs. “Big day tomorrow, huh? Are you excited to be fifteen?”  
  
“Um-“  
  
“Crutchie!” Jack interrupted, drumming impatiently on Crutchie’s shoulders. “Play it from the beginning.”  
  
“ _Really_ , Jack?”  
  
“Aw c’mon, we’ll just watch the first couple songs!”  
  
“Okay, okay...” Crutchie sighed and grabbed the remote.  
  
“Wait, I’ll make popcorn.”  
  
“You know I do hafta go home eventually, right?” Davey called after him as he vanished into the kitchen, but Davey knew as well as anyone that an excited Jack was practically a deaf Jack.  
  
The great, tough Cowboy Kelly, everybody.  
  
Crutchie shook his head, grinning. “Has he been like this all day?”  
  
Davey chuckled. “He’s been in a good mood for the past forever, it seems like.”  
  
Crutchie prodded him gently. “Well, that’s you, Dave. Mostly, it’s cause of you.”  
  
Davey blinked, and even as a slow smile spread across his face he looked kind of surprised. “Ya think?”  
  
“Well, yeah!” said Crutchie earnestly. Suddenly, it felt really, really important that Davey knew just how much he had done for Jack. “You make him happy. Happier than I’ve ever seen him, maybe. But you already knew that, didn’t ya?”  
  
“Well... Thanks, Crutchie.” Davey’s eyes shone. “That really does mean a lot.”  
  
“It’s the truth,” said Crutchie firmly. “And I tell ya- Lovesick, googly-eyed Jack is way more fun to argue with than grumpy, broody, moody Jack. So, thank you for everythin’ you’re doin’ for him. Really.”  
  
Davey grinned. “Lovesick and googly-eyed, huh?”  
  
“Uh, don’t tell him I told ya that. Even though it’s true. He’d kill me.”  
  
“Your secret’s safe with me,” Davey promised. “And, for the record, Jack makes me happy too. Really happy. I’m glad I get to do the same thing for him.”  
  
Eventually Jack returned with a burnt bowl of popcorn (and apparently _Crutchie_ was the one who couldn’t cook), then curled up against Davey on the blanket. He held his hand as they all sung their way through the first couple songs and beyond, until Davey finally managed to extract himself and kiss him goodbye. (“No, seriously Jack, my mom’s gonna kill me if I stay out any later.”)  
  
Watching the little smile on Davey’s face as he left, Crutchie was really glad that he’d told him that stuff about Jack. Even if Jack murdered him for it. Sometimes, somehow, people just didn’t understand how much they meant to someone until they got a reminder.


	6. Chapter 6

When the morning of his birthday finally dawned, for once Crutchie wasn’t awoken by the pain in his leg. He was woken the same way he was every year: by Medda and Jack bursting into his room, singing ‘Happy Birthday’ at the tops of their voices (which was _loud_ , even for them) and dumping a bunch of presents on top of him like he was a birthday scrap heap.  
  
He absolutely loved it.  
  
“Mornin’,” he croaked with a not-fully-awake-yet grin, blinking as Jack threw open the curtains.  
  
Medda kissed his forehead. “Happy birthday, Charlie!”  
  
“Mm, you too.” Crutchie rubbed his eyes and groggily pulled himself upright.  
  
Jack leapt onto his bed and tapped one of the presents on his lap. “Open this one first.”  
  
Crutchie pushed the last traces of sleepiness away and tried to pick up the gift, but Jack pulled it out of his reach.  
  
“You got three guesses! Use ‘em wisely.”  
  
“Uh...” Crutchie looked thoughtfully at the parcel. “It’s kinda book-shaped... Is it a book?”  
  
Jack snorted. “C’mon, Crutch, ya really think I would getcha a _book_? You know I’m better than that!”  
  
“I wouldn’t have minded if you’d gotten me a book. I like books.”  
  
“It’s not a book.”  
  
“Okay, okay, uh... Can I hold it?”  
  
“No, that’s cheatin’.” Jack shook the parcel tantalizingly. “No clues.”  
  
“Did you make somethin’ artsy and craftsy?”  
  
“Ooh, gettin’ warmer. But since there are no clues, that counts as one of your guesses. So, last chance.”  
  
Medda started miming something behind Jack’s back.  
  
Crutchie smiled and tilted his head. “Is it a paintin’?  
  
Jack smirked and finally handed it over. “Why dontcha open it and see?”  
  
Crutchie tugged at the ribbon, and as the paper fell away he caught a glimpse of colour on canvas.  
  
“Oh, wow, Jack...”  
  
Jack was a fantastic artist without even trying, but Crutchie could tell he had worked hard on this one. The paints swirled together into a beautiful landscape, alight with the soft pinks and oranges of sunrise and carefully etched in gold. And right in the centre was a detailed silhouette of a kid with a crutch, standing proud and tall against the horizon, one hand stretched towards the sky as though he could climb up to the clouds. Like he could reach the heavens, crutch or no crutch.  
  
“This is _amazin’_.”  
  
Jack grinned. “Yeah?”  
  
“Yeah.” Crutchie traced a gentle finger over the familiar shapes of a place he’d never seen. He swallowed. “Santa Fe, huh?”  
  
“Got it in one, kid.”  
  
“You ain’t talked about that in a long time,” Crutchie said lightly, not looking up from the picture.  
  
“Yeah, well.” Jack shrugged and crumpled up the discarded wrapping paper. “I ain’t really needed to, to be honest. We got a good thing goin’, right here in New York, right?” He looked over at Medda with a wistful smile, which she returned softly. “I still think about it sometimes, though. Always gonna be special to me, Santa Fe.”  
  
“Yeah.” Crutchie propped the painting carefully on the nightstand, where it was in full view of the rest of the room, and felt a rush of warmth. “Yeah, me too. Thanks, Jack.”  
  
Jack bumped his shoulder against Crutchie’s. “Betcha you’re glad you didn’t say no to the presents now, huh?”  
  
“Yeah, yeah, yeah, you were right.”  
  
And you know what? Jack was right. Since when was Crutchie the type of guy to mope around in his own misery whenever his leg twinged a little? Since when had Crutchie ever let his stupid leg ruin his fun before? Since never, that’s when. So he was going to enjoy his birthday. He was going to go to Jacobi’s to meet his friends for lunch and have a good time if it killed him.  
  
Those were the optimistic thoughts bouncing around Crutchie’s head when he left the house with Jack just before noon. A little while later into the walk to the deli, his leg was _killing_ from all of the movement and his thoughts were starting to get slightly less optimistic.  
  
“I swear it wasn’t this far last week,” he said breathlessly, trying to walk like he couldn’t feel blades of pain slicing into his limb whenever he moved it.  
  
“Must be the old age catchin’ up to ya, Crutch,” said Jack seriously. “Your sense of time and direction ain’t what it used to be, huh?”  
  
“Ha, yep, that must be it. Ya hit fifteen and then suddenly ya start to lose your marbles.”  
  
“I don’t think ya can blame the age for that one, bud.”  
  
Crutchie laughed, but part of his mind was racing, fixated on the pain stabbing through his leg. He could swear that it was getting worse. Worse than it had been for a long, long time. The last time it had been this bad...  
  
“Hello?” Jack’s knuckles rapped gently on the side of his head. “Anyone home? Or are ya goin’ deaf as well as crazy?”  
  
Crutchie tore his focus back to the sidewalk and his brother strolling next to him. “Uh, sorry, what?”  
  
“I was just sayin’, we better hurry if we wanna get there on time. We were cuttin’ it fine when we left the house and the birthday kid can’t be late to his own birthday.”  
  
“Right.” Crutchie swallowed, then forced himself to move faster. The pain flared even more viciously then before, but he pushed himself forward. He could hear that lovely little positive voice in his head barking encouragement at him like a football coach, trying to turn it all into a game.  
  
_Just focus on one step at a time. One. Two. Three. Okay, see that lamppost over there? Ten points if you make it there without flinching. Okay, not bad. Fifty points if you walk even faster after the next corner. One, two, three, four-  
_  
“Right on time,” Jack said as he stopped outside Jacobi’s and grinned through the window, and Crutchie sighed with relief as they pushed through the door. All he wanted right then and there was to get off his feet and close his eyes.  
  
Then a loud cheer rang across the room from a table crowded with their friends, and suddenly everyone was saying his name and yelling birthday greetings and swarming towards him to pat his shoulder or wrap him in hugs or thrust presents under his nose. So he pushed away the pain and fixed the signature smile to his face and jumped into the wonderful, familiar chaos. Stood up tall. Hugged everyone back. Said thank you, and then whatever other nonsense came to his mind that would make everyone laugh. Then Race shoved a party hat onto his head, grabbed his elbow and towed him gleefully towards the overcrowded table- and finally, _finally_ he could collapse into a chair.  
  
Except... It didn’t help. It wasn’t a relief to take the weight off his leg, like he thought it would be. The pain didn’t start to ease and ebb away, little by little. It still chipped determinedly away at him, ripping cracks and fractures into his armour, trying to get him to shatter to pieces.  
  
_Quit being such a wimp!_ commanded his inner sports coach impatiently. _You’re fine! Just need to tough it out, is all. Open your presents, eat some cake and you’ll forget all about it._ _  
_  
It wasn’t much of a pep talk, but Crutchie toughed it out.  
  
He could do this.  
  
As long as he kept smiling and talking and playing the distraction game. Look, Specs actually _had_ gotten him a book- that was kinda funny. And it was a really exciting-looking one. Spot had made him a card- and the image of scary Spot Conlon sitting down with glitter and glue to make him a homemade card was so un-Spot-like that Crutchie didn’t know whether to be touched or to burst out laughing. And Albert had-  
  
Okay, he couldn’t do this.  
  
Yes, he could. He had been doing it for nearly half an hour already. He just needed a breather, that was all.  
  
He glanced over at Jack, who was leaning against Davey and deep in an animated conversation with Race. He wouldn’t even notice if Crutchie was gone for a few seconds.  
  
“Just goin’ to the bathroom,” Crutchie said quietly to whoever was listening, grabbing his crutch and standing up. He was dimly aware of the sting of his nails digging into his palm.  
  
It hurt, it hurt, it hurt. _Okay, one step at a time. Two. Three. Four-_  
  
Then, when he got to the men’s room, something caught his eye. There was a fire exit right there. He was out of sight of his friends’ table. And he just needed a moment. He wouldn’t go anywhere, he wouldn’t even take two minutes. He just needed some fresh air.  
  
The second he stumbled through the door, he pressed his back against the wall of Jacobi’s and slid to the ground, breathing heavily. He rested his head against the brickwork, closing his eyes.  
  
Just two minutes and he would be just fine.  
  
One, two, three... One minute gone... Okay, two minutes gone. That was more than enough time to sit around in the Jacobi alleyway and throw himself a pity party. He was better now. Ready to go back and enjoy his real party.  
  
Except... He couldn’t stand. He set his crutch firmly on the ground and tried to use the wall to haul himself up, but as soon as he put any weight on his bad leg it collapsed, sending him into a painful collision with the dirt.  
  
This wasn’t good. This _really_ wasn’t good.  
  
“C’mon, c’mon, get up,” he urged himself. He made a bold attempt at a laugh. “This is ridiculous. And it’s gonna be real embarassin’ when everyone finds ya here, scrunched up on the ground like a loser...”  
  
He tried to stand up again. Nope.  
  
Then, he froze. Heavy footsteps were ambling down the alleyway towards him. _One, two, three..._ Someone- no, _two_ someones were getting closer and closer. Then, two large, hulking figures moved into his field of vision, and his stomach flooded with cold dread.  
  
“Would ya look at that, Morris. What are the odds, huh? Same alley, same ugly little face gettin’ in the way of where we’re lookin’.”  
  
The Delancey brothers.  
  
What were the odds, huh?


	7. Chapter 7

Leaning heavily against the wall, Crutchie cracked a strained smile. “Nothin’ to see here, fellas. How about we all move along, huh?”  
  
Oscar Delancey laughed cruelly and kicked Crutchie’s foot, while his brother watched with a nasty smirk. He probably didn’t even do it that hard, but it sent a ripple of agony spreading through his leg as though a hundred Oscars were kicking him at once. Crutchie flinched back against the wall, hugging his knee close to his chest.  
  
Alarm bells were ringing in his head. He knew what was coming. He knew that the Delanceys preferred easy targets- and targets didn’t get much easier than a kid with a crutch who was slumped against the wall, unable to stand.  
  
“Where’s Cowboy Kelly and the rest of the crew?” Morris looked mockingly around the alleyway as though expecting Jack to magically swoop out of the nearest trashcan like a New York genie. “Left ya here all alone, did they?”  
  
Crutchie shrugged. “They ain’t here, clearly. How bout ya go back the way ya came and look for ‘em? I’ll wait here.”  
  
Oscar smirked. “We ain’t exactly falling over ourselves to see Kelly’s ugly mug right now, thanks. Nah, much cosier with just the three of us.”  
  
“Well, they say three’s a crowd,” Crutchie quipped, jamming his shoulder against the wall to try and force himself onto his feet. “So I’ll just leave ya to it.”  
  
His leg buckled and he ended up with another faceful of dirt and the sound of jeering laughter cutting through the air. He could feel their eyes boring into him, weighing up how best to tear him apart. When he looked up at them, their faces were twisted with malice and anticipation and some sick form of amusement, but there was something else... They almost looked pitying. Like he was a half-squashed beetle that somebody had stepped on which they were about to put out of its misery.  
  
And suddenly, Crutchie was a little less scared and a whole lot more angry. He could deal with mockery, when it was aimed his way. He could even deal with cruelty. But pity was something he just couldn’t stand. Yes, he knew he must’ve looked a pretty sorry sight, crumpled helplessly on the ground, but suddenly he wanted to throw those little shreds of pity right back in the Delanceys’ faces.  
  
“Why dontcha just leave me alone?” he snapped. “Don’t you two have a family of Dalmatians to steal or somethin’?”  
  
Oscar stuck out his bottom lip. “Aw. Hear that, Morris? He wants us to _leave him alone_.”  
  
“I mean it, both of ya. Just get lost.”  
  
“ _Get lost_ ,” Morris mimicked in a high, whining voice. “Get lost, he says. What makes ya think ya can talk to us like that? Huh? You’re nothin’ but a waste of space, and I bet even your little gang of losers knows it.”  
  
“What are you two doin’ here, anyway?” Crutchie asked defiantly, trying to ignore the way the words stung. “Lookin’ for more fourth-graders to beat up? Or have ya moved on to stealin’ candy from babies this week?”  
  
Morris’ eyes flashed dangerously. “Actually, I’m more in the mood to beat up mouthy little freaks with crutches. Oscar?”  
  
“Sounds good to me.”  
  
Crutchie tried to get to his feet again, but he couldn’t. There was no escape. And he knew there was no point in trying to talk his way out, especially when he had taken it this far.  
  
Morris cracked his knuckles and stepped forward. “Maybe this’ll teach ya to watch that smart mouth of yours.”  
  
Crutchie tightened his jaw in preparation and closed his eyes as the two of them moved closer. He didn’t want to watch the fists flying towards him. Maybe if he shut his eyes tight, it would be over quicker. Maybe it wouldn’t hurt quite as much.  
  
But as the hits and the kicks and the punches kept coming, it didn’t feel quick.  
  
And it really, really did hurt.  
  
\- - -  
  
“Oh my _god_! Oh my god- _Crutchie_?”  
  
It had been quiet for a long time- Crutchie couldn’t even begin to guess at how long it had been since the Delanceys had finally gotten bored- so the familiar, stricken voice made him start. He peeled his eyes open, and they slowly adjusted to show a tall, lanky figure staring down at him in horrified disbelief.  
  
“Davey?” Crutchie croaked weakly, trying to sit up.  
  
Davey stumbled towards him and grabbed his shoulder gently, his eyes wide. “Oh god... Are you alright? What happened? _Are you alright_?”  
  
No. No, he wasn’t. His leg was still burning, but now the pain felt like it was pulsing throughout his entire body. He could feel the grotesque petals of bruises starting to blossom on his arms, ribs and face, his head throbbing from when it had knocked back against the wall, and he could taste the metallic blood of a split lip. And, judging by the way Davey was gawping at him, he didn’t _look_ alright either.  
  
“Yeah,” Crutchie said anyway through the knot in his throat.  
  
Davey, who was actually really good in a crisis once he got past the initial thirty seconds of panicking, took a couple of deep breaths and then looked him up and down analytically. “Okay, alright... Hey, can ya stand?”  
  
“Yes,” said Crutchie determinedly, and he tried his hardest to get to his feet as Davey hooked an arm around him. Once again, the attempt was unsuccessful. “...No.”  
  
“No,” Davey repeated, then sat down next to him, running a hand through his hair. “Good god, Crutch, what _happened_?”  
  
Crutchie’s eyes were smarting with the pain and humiliation, so he closed them again. “I got kinda beat up.”  
  
“Well, yeah, I can see that, but _Jesus_... Who was it? God, they beat ya up so badly ya can’t even _stand_?”  
  
“No.” Crutchie shook his head miserably, and suddenly the truth was spilling out- so suddenly that he hardly understood where it was all coming from, or why. “That bit ain’t their fault, Dave, it’s... It’s my leg. I mean, of course they probably didn’t help, but it’s been... It’s been gettin’ worse and worse for weeks now, but I couldn’t tell nobody because- because...”  
  
He trailed off and there was a long pause. Davey was staring at him, for once looking lost for words.  
  
“Right,” Davey said finally, his voice quiet but firm. “I ain’t gonna leave ya, Crutchie, don’t worry- I’ll call Jack, tell him to get out here, then we can call-”  
  
“No!” Crutchie grabbed Davey’s arm as he started to reach into his pocket. “Davey, no, please don’t call Jack! And please don’t call the hospital, or Medda, or no one. I-I’m fine, I really am-“  
  
He heard his voice break, and he was appalled at himself when he realised he was crying. And it wasn’t just the pain- although it did hurt _so_ damn much. He was crying because he knew that he’d ruined everything now. Jack and Medda were going to find out, and he wouldn’t be able to keep it from them no matter how hard he tried. He was gonna end up back in the hospital, draining all of Medda’s money and attention and kindness that he didn’t even deserve. And if the worst happened, he was gonna send Jack right back to that dark place that he and Davey had worked so hard to avoid, where a little town two thousand miles away was the only hope he could find.  
  
But maybe Crutchie was also crying with relief, just a little bit. Because maybe it did feel good to have the weight off his shoulders. Somebody finally knew the truth. He wouldn’t have to lie through a gritted smile every day anymore, or haul his aching leg around everywhere pretending like it was easy. Everybody would know.  
  
“Oh, Crutchie...” Davey wrapped his arms around him carefully. “It’s gonna be alright, I promise. It’s gonna be fine... But ya know we _have_ to call Jack, right? I mean, we hafta...”  
  
Crutchie took a deep breath and then nodded defeatedly, watching as Davey pulled out his phone. The world was starting to go out of focus, blurring together in a pained haze of dark splotches. Crutchie shook his head, trying to get rid of them...  
  
“Jack? Hey, I... No, love, listen- Ya need to come outside right now. I just found Crutchie in the alley and he... Yeah, that alley... I don’t know, but he ain’t lookin’ so good, Jackie. Just come out here... Okay. Yeah. Okay.”  
  
There was a blessed minute of silence, with Davey rubbing Crutchie’s shoulder soothingly, before the pattering of a dozen frantic footsteps and people exclaiming, calling his name and demanding to know what had happened. The sudden noise made his head ache even more, and it was hard to focus on much else. Dimly, he recognized that Race was standing closest to him, gripping Spot’s hand, his face twisted in shock. Katherine was kneeling beside Davey, firing endless questions at him through her fingers, which were pressed against her lips. And then Jack was there, crouched in front of him and gripping Crutchie’s shoulders.  
  
“Hey- Hey, Crutchie, look at me. You okay? Talk to me. What the hell happened?”  
  
Crutchie opened his mouth to reply, but all that came out was a choked sob.  
  
“He said somethin’ about his leg,” Davey said softly.  
  
Jack’s voice was strangled. “His leg?”  
  
“Well, his leg didn’t exactly give him that black eye, did it?” growled Spot. “Who the _fuck_ did this, Crutchie?”  
  
“The Delanceys.” Race’s voice was quiet with rage, and it made Crutchie shiver because Race being _quiet_ was bordering on the unnatural. “This was the Delanceys, weren’t it, Crutch?”  
  
Crutchie couldn’t answer. The world was still spinning and flickering before his eyes. Was he about to pass out? God, no, please don’t let him pass out. That would just be the mortifying cherry on top of the miserable birthday cake.  
  
“The Delanceys?” Jack’s voice sounded downright murderous... But it also sounded really, really far away.  
  
_No, don’t pass out, don’t pass out..._  
  
Crutchie tilted his head back against the wall, the darkness seized his vision and the world slipped away from him.


	8. Chapter 8

The next time Crutchie opened his eyes, he wished he hadn’t. He knew exactly where he was, even before he did. And he didn’t like it one bit.  
  
Realistically, Crutchie knew hospitals were a good thing. They were here to make him better, after all. It wasn’t the hospital’s fault that everything was hurting, or that it made him feel trapped and helpless. But still, hospitals meant pain and fear and empty white rooms, and people talking to him in hushed whispers like normal volume would be enough to break him into little pieces. He’d hated it six years ago, and he hated it now.  
  
He blinked, his eyelids flickering as the fluorescent lights glared viciously down at him. He groaned softly, his head pounding.  
  
“Charlie?”  
  
He tilted his head towards the whisper of a familiar voice, already smiling with relief. Medda was sat on a chair at the side of the bed, her eyes shimmery with eyeshadow and tears- she must have come straight here from the theatre. She let out a little, staggered breath when she met his eyes and grabbed his hand.  
  
“Oh, my baby boy.”  
  
A sleep-blurred figure that had been moving back and forth at the end of his bed suddenly froze- Jack had been pacing the room, as he did when he was agitated and he didn’t have a pencil and paper to distract himself with. He stared at Crutchie like he didn’t quite know what to do with himself; like he didn’t know whether to laugh or yell. Right then, he didn’t do either. That wasn’t like Jack at all- normally he knew exactly how he felt about everything, and he didn’t hesitate to let everybody else know it too.  
  
“Hi, guys,” Crutchie rasped.  
  
Medda brushed his hair off his forehead. “How are you feeling, honey?”  
  
Crutchie smiled wanly. “Well, my nose kinda itches.”  
  
Medda laughed under her breath and squeezed his hand. “Don’t you try to be funny, Charlie. I mean it. How do you feel?”  
  
“I’m fine.”  
  
“Fine like you’re actually fine?” Jack spoke up, seeming to finally decide right then and there that he felt like being mad. “Or fine like you’re not fine and just ain’t tellin’ anyone so you can ignore the problem till it goes away?”  
  
“Jack,” Medda chided gently, and Jack huffed loudly and started pacing again, his face mutinous.  
  
Crutchie bit his lip and looked down at his hand, which was cradled safely in Medda’s. There was a few seconds of silence.  
  
“Everyone’s going to be happy you’re awake, Charlie,” Medda said brightly, in a transparent attempt to change the subject. “They’ve had your poor party guests in the waiting room for an hour. They say they can’t let anybody but family in to see you.”  
  
Crutchie struggled to sit up and stifled a gasp of pain. “Well, that- that ain’t right. Cause, if they’re lettin’ family come in then they should let everybody come in, cause they’re all my family too-“  
  
“I know, baby, I know.” Medda shushed him and gently tried to press him back onto the pillow.  
  
“I- I can sit up.”  
  
“I know, I know you can, but you have to take it easy or you’ll hurt yourself.”  
  
“Medda-“ Crutchie struggled to prop himself up on his elbows. He almost felt ready to start crying again. “I’m sorry, I’m real sorry-“  
  
“Shhh, shhh...” Medda helped him sit up properly and started stroking his hair again. “Why on earth are you sorry, sweetie?”  
  
Jack stopped again at the foot of his bed, his face unreadable.  
  
Crutchie took a deep breath, trying to calm himself down. His stomach was swirling with guilt, making him feel sick. This was exactly what he hadn’t wanted. Maybe if he hadn’t made such a big deal out of his stupid birthday, everything would’ve been fine. He, Jack and Medda could’ve just stayed home and watched a movie or something, and everyone would’ve been happy. But no. He’d messed everything up.  
  
“I... I know the hospital’s real expensive, and I don’t even really know how expensive it is but I know it’s expensive and there’s a lotta bills, and I don’t want ya to hafta spend loads of money cause of me-“  
  
“Oh, _honey_.” Medda’s eyes started to glaze over with tears once more. “What are you doing, stressing yourself out about money? I don’t want you worrying about things like that! Least of all because there ain’t anything worry about.”  
  
“But-“  
  
“Charlie.” Medda wiped her eyes. “Don’t you give it another thought. You just worry about getting better, and leave everything else to me.”  
  
Crutchie nodded dejectedly, knowing when it was useless to argue.  
  
“Good.” Medda stood up. “I’m gonna get Dr Meyer, let her know you’re awake. Okay?”  
  
“Okay.”  
  
As she passed Jack, she squeezed his shoulder and kissed his cheek, and he gave her a tight smile in return. She stopped for a moment at the door.  
  
“I love you both so much.”  
  
“I love you too, Medda.”  
  
“Yeah, love ya, Medda.”  
  
When the door swung shut behind her, Jack just looked at him, and Crutchie wondered how badly he was about to get told off. Then Jack sighed crossly, moved jerkily toward him and pulled him into a long, tight hug. Crutchie froze in surprise, then wrapped his aching arms around his big brother, pressing his face into his shoulder and breathing shakily.  
  
“Don’t think this means I ain’t mad at you,” Jack said hoarsely as he pulled away to sit on the bed. “Why the hell didn’t ya tell us, huh?”  
  
“I’m sorry, Jack,” Crutchie mumbled.  
  
“Yeah, damn right you’re sorry. But that still don’t tell me why.”  
  
Crutchie kept his eyes fixed on the mattress. “I... I didn’t want ya to worry.”  
  
Jack snorted. “So your plan to keep me from worryin’ was to wait until ya passed out in an alley and wound up in hospital? Great. Mission accomplished, kid.”  
  
“That ain’t exactly fair,” Crutchie protested half-heartedly. “It ain’t like I asked to get beat up.”  
  
“I got a lot to say about that, too,” Jack said grimly. “Who was it? Cause Race told me that you two ran into the Delanceys in that alley last week-“  
  
“Don’t be mad at Race,” Crutchie said hurriedly. “It ain’t his fault. I made him promise not to tell ya.”  
  
“I ain’t mad at Race. I blame you completely.”  
  
“Oh.” Crutchie swallowed. “Good.”  
  
“So it _was_ the Delanceys?”  
  
“Jack.” Crutchie gave him a warning look. “Don’t get yourself in trouble.”  
  
“Hey. _I’m_ the one doing the lecture here, kid, not you.”  
  
“Okay, okay. Please, continue.”  
  
Jack shook his head. “Crutch... Davey said ya told him that your leg’s been botherin’ ya for weeks. _Weeks,_ and ya never said nothin’! Ya _know_ how important it is to let the doctors know early if somethin’s wrong!”  
  
“I- I know.”  
  
“Last time, Dr Meyer kept sayin’ how lucky it was that ya came in early before it got too bad, because the longer ya leave it, the harder it is to treat it, and there’s a much higher chance that... that...”  
  
“I know,” Crutchie whispered as Jack trailed off.  
  
“So what the _hell_ were you thinkin’?”  
  
Silence.  
  
“Is it about the stupid money thing? Ya didn’t want Medda to have to pay for the hospital?”  
  
“Not just that,” Crutchie said quietly.  
  
“Then _what_?”  
  
“I just... I hate the way it _feels_ , Jack,” Crutchie burst out. “I hate feelin’ so... So _helpless_. I hate how everyone has to tiptoe around me all cautious, or help me do stuff that other people can do easy. I hate it. I- I don’t wanna just be the kid with the crutch who can’t do nothin’ for himself, y’know?”  
  
Jack was staring at him, his forehead creasing. “You... You ain’t. You _know_ you ain’t.”  
  
“I know that,” Crutchie shook his head. “But not everybody else knows that.”  
  
“Yeah, they do.”  
  
“No, they don’t. And besides, I’ve caused enough trouble already.”  
  
“Now I really don’t know whatcha mean.”  
  
Crutchie sighed miserably. “Jack, it’s just like it was last time. You were real happy before, with the therapy goin’ so well and gettin’ used to bein’ a proper family and it was all really great, and then I got myself in hospital and it ruined everythin’. And now this time you’ve been so happy since you and Davey started datin’, and then of course my leg starts actin’ up and I just... I didn’t wanna mess up your life again. Yours or Medda’s or anybody’s.”  
  
Jack was looking at him as though he was a stranger; like the original Crutchie had packed a bag and moved to Canada, and he’d only just realised that the Crutchie in the hospital bed was Original Crutchie’s mysterious twin. He had the same lost sort of look on his face that he’d had before, the one that wasn’t sure exactly how to feel. He definitely didn’t seem all that angry anymore, though. More shocked and sad.  
  
“Kid, what are ya talkin’ about?” he murmured eventually. “That’s crazy...”  
  
“But it’s not! It’s true, Jack. Ya know it is.”  
  
“No, I don’t!”  
  
“Yeah, ya do.”  
  
“Crutchie.” Jack looked him right in the eye. “You ain’t ever messed up mine or Medda’s lives. Never.”  
  
Crutchie let those words wash over him. It... It really did sound like Jack meant it. Really meant it. He gulped, feeling his eyes start to sting a little. “R-Really?”  
  
“Yes, really!” Jack said adamantly. “This ain’t your fault, okay? None of it.”

Crutchie couldn’t bring himself to reply, but he nodded. Then Jack sighed and dragged a hand through his hair.

“I’m sorry, Crutch.”  
  
Crutchie blinked, wondering if he’d misheard. “Hang on. _You’re_ sorry? What’s with the table-turnin’?”  
  
“I shoulda noticed somethin’ weren’t right,” Jack muttered.  
  
“Aw Jack, stop it. How were ya supposed to notice anythin’ was wrong if I was hidin’ it from ya, huh?”  
  
“You’re my little brother.” Jack clenched and unclenched his fists. “I’m supposed to be lookin’ out for ya.”  
  
“No, don’t do that.” Crutchie prodded him in the shoulder. “Don’t do that dumb blaming-yourself thing. It’s dumb. Besides, ya blame me completely, remember?”  
  
Jack chuckled softly. “That’s right. I do.”  
  
“Good.” Crutchie smiled at him. “I love ya, Jack.”  
  
“Love you too, kid. And if ya ever pull anythin’ like that again then I’m gonna beat the tar outta ya. I mean it.”  
  
Crutchie punched him lightly in the arm. “Damnit, Jack, we nearly had a nice moment there.”  
  
“Yeah, I couldn’t let that happen. I have a reputation to uphold, y’know. The great, tough Jack Kelly.”  
  
Crutchie started giggling slightly. “Sorry, Captain Jack. I think we all know that ship has sailed.”  
  
He could tell Jack was almost about to start laughing too until the door swung open again and the sound of brisk footsteps entered the room. The laughter died away at the grave expression on Dr Meyer’s face, and the worry on Medda’s as she followed her inside.  
  
“What?” Jack asked immediately. “What’s wrong? He’s gonna be okay, right?”  
  
Medda smiled, but her hands were trembling. “We don’t even know what the problem is yet, honey. It might not be anything serious.”  
  
“But we’ll need to run some tests to be sure,” finished Dr Meyer calmly.  
  
“Hey, Dr Meyer.” Crutchie waved sheepishly. “Long time, no see. How are ya?”  
  
“What can we do for him?” Jack broke in.  
  
“Everything we can.” Dr Meyer gave him a reassuring nod. “It’s still early, and you’re in good hands, Charlie. The odds are definitely in your favour.”  
  
“Good,” Crutchie said dazedly. “That’s... That’s good.”  
  
Jack stood up. “Anythin’ I can do?”  
  
Dr Meyer shot him a sympathetic look. “I’m sorry, Mr Kelly, but if you could just wait outside-“  
  
“What?” Jack’s jaw tightened. “No, I can’t just _wait outside_ , I gotta stay-“  
  
“Jack, sweetie...” Medda touched his shoulder.  
  
“No, Medda, I _can’t_ just-“  
  
“It’s okay, Jack.” Crutchie gave him an encouraging smile. “Tell everyone that I say hi, okay?”  
  
Jack’s shoulders slumped and for once in his life, he gave up arguing. “I’ll be right outside.”  
  
“I know. I’ll... I’ll see you later.”  
  
“You too, Miss Larkin,” said Dr Meyer apologetically as Jack traipsed reluctantly outside.  
  
Media pressed one last kiss to Crutchie’s forehead, and then she was gone too. He was alone, and suddenly he felt nine years old again. It hadn’t gotten any less scary since the first time.  
  
“I don’t like hospitals, much,” he admitted quietly.  
  
Dr Meyer nodded kindly. “Don’t worry, Charlie. It’ll be over before you know it.”  
  
“Yeah.” Crutchie leaned back, staring at the ceiling. “Okay.”


	9. Chapter 9

Crutchie was eight years old, and he was running.  
  
His chest was tight with laughter, gasping for air between every giggle, and his legs were burning with adrenaline and freedom. Every step seemed to fill him with new life and energy, making him lighter than air. He was racing, soaring. He was unstoppable-  
  
Then Race swooped out of nowhere, cackling like a maniac, and tapped his shoulder.  
  
“You’re it!”  
  
“ _Noooo_!” Charlie groaned, still spluttering with laughter. He whirled around and started chasing his friend in the opposite direction across the lawn of Madison Square Park, but Race kept dancing just out of reach. Eventually Crutchie got tired of the losing battle and ran over to Kath instead, who was reading quietly in the shade. Jack was doodling next to her, his face scrunched up in concentration as his pencil scraped across the page, and Medda was on a bench a little way away, keeping a watchful eye on them as she flipped through a magazine.  
  
“Wait, wait, I’m not playing!” Kath screeched, trying to swat him away with her book, but Crutchie just grinned and tapped her foot.  
  
“You’re it!”  
  
“Objection!”  
  
“Overruled,” Crutchie said, panting. “Rules... Are rules, Kath.”  
  
“Fine.” Katherine turned and whacked Jack in the arm. He yelped loudly and dropped his pencil.  
  
“What were that for?”  
  
“Don’t look at me.” Katherine shrugged. “Rules are rules, Jack.”  
  
Crutchie flung himself onto his back on the ground, wheezing. Race bolted over to them, still fizzing with inhuman energy.  
  
“Does that mean I win? We said that the last person to give up wins-“  
  
“You... Win _everythin’_ ,” Charlie complained, still breathing heavily.  
  
“ _I’m_ the one who wins if you two go away and gimme some peace and quiet,” grumbled Jack, trying not to smirk as he examined the smudge that Katherine had left on his drawing.  
  
“Spoilsport.” Race stuck his tongue out at Jack then nudged Crutchie gently in the side with his foot. “C’mon, Charlie, you said you’d let me teach ya how to cartwheel.”  
  
“Mmmph,” Crutchie moaned, closing his eyes. “I think my legs are gonna fall off.”  
  
_“C’monnnnn_ ,” Race poked him impatiently in the side again, and Charlie squirmed away, mumbling feeble protests. “I’ll teach ya to do handstands instead. Ya don’t need your legs for that.”  
  
“Mmmmph. If I admit that you won, will you lemme rest for five more minutes?”  
  
Race blew a raspberry and launched himself into a handstand. He stretched his legs gracefully, walking on his hands across the grass. Crutchie rolled over onto his side to watch, impressed.  
  
“That’s amazin’, Race. You could be in a circus.”  
  
Race carefully lowered himself to the ground, his face lighting up. “Ya reckon?”  
  
“Circus?” Jack snickered. “Yeah, Race would definitely fit right in at the circus.”  
  
“Aw, shuddup, Cowboy. You can’t say nothin’. You’re gonna be one of them rodeo clowns in Santa Fe.”  
  
Jack scrunched up one of the pages of his notebook and threw it at Race’s head, grinning. “Real funny. I ain’t lookin’ for a clown career, thanks.”  
  
“I don’t know, Jack,” Katherine said, amused, stretching to grab the ball of paper before it blew away in the wind. “I think you’d be great at it.”  
  
“Nah.” Jack leaned back comfortably against the tree trunk behind him. “Tell ya what, though, I wouldn’t mind bein’ a rodeo clown if it made me enough money.”  
  
“Think you’ll be rich one day, Jack?” Crutchie joked, sitting up. “With one of those fancy houses like Kath’s, where the elevator opens right into the livin’ room?”  
  
“Ugh.” Kath shook her head in disgust. “You can have mine, if you want. I’ll get a job instead.”  
  
“What, a penthouse?” Jack smiled. “I already got a penthouse, kid. Out on the rooftop, where I can see the sky and the stars. That’s way better than any fancy house.”  
  
“Yeah, who needs to be rich?” Race scoffed. “I’m gonna be famous.”  
  
“Famous doing what?” Katherine asked, closing her book with a snap.  
  
“I dunno. Just famous. People gives ya whatever ya want when you’re famous.”  
  
“Ya could be famous for Mario Kart,” Crutchie suggested.  
  
Race’s eyes gleamed. “I never thoughta that! That’s genius!”  
  
“What about you, Kelly?” Kath elbowed Jack in the ribs. “If not a rodeo clown, then an artist, right?”  
  
Jack rolled his eyes. “Just cause I can draw a couple of stick figures don’t mean I’m an artist, Kath.”  
  
“Oh, stop pretending to be modest. You’ve got real talent and you know it.”  
  
“It’s true.” Race seized Jack’s sketchpad and examined it. “I mean, lookit this! These ain’t just stick figures!”  
  
“Hey, gimme that,” Jack demanded as Race showed it to Charlie. “It ain’t finished yet.”  
  
Crutchie studied the drawing with interest for a split second before Jack snatched it back. It was definitely far more detailed than stick figures. He had drawn Race and Charlie running together, legs flying, joyful laughter on their faces. He’d started to shade clouds around them and below their feet, like the pair of them were leaping across the sky. It was amazing how _real_ he’d managed to make a bunch of pencil lines look. Crutchie half expected the two little figures to run right off the page, where he would hear them giggling and yelling.  
  
“That’s awesome, Jack!”  
  
“Yeah, see? But I don’t think my nose is big as that-”  
  
“Alright, alright.” Jack jabbed his pencil threateningly at them. “Zip it or I’ll make both your noses even bigger. What about Kath? Why aren’t you buggin’ her?”  
  
“Everybody knows Kath wants to be a writer,” Crutchie pointed out.  
  
“Everybody knows Kath’s _going_ to be a writer,” Katherine corrected, her chin tilting in determination.  
  
Crutchie nodded solemnly. “Yeah, sorry. Everybody knows Kath’s gonna be a writer.”  
  
“What about you, then, Charlie?” Race looked at him expectantly. “What do you wanna do?”  
  
“Oh, I dunno.”  
  
“Ya can be anythin’ ya want!” Jack grinned at him. “And you’re still comin’ to Santa Fe with me, right?”  
  
Crutchie beamed back. “You bet I am.”  
  
“So you really don’t know what you want to be when you grow up?” Katherine said. “No ideas at all?”  
  
“Well, maybe...” Crutchie chewed his lip thoughtfully. “I always thought it might be cool to be one of those people who helps kids find families and makes sure they get a good home and stuff. Y’know, Jack, like Miss Alison helped us find Medda? I’d like to do that.”  
  
“You mean a social worker?”  
  
Jack’s voice was suddenly quiet, and kind of shaky. Crutchie’s heart sank. Had he upset him? He hadn’t wanted to upset him. Maybe he had brought back all of Jack’s bad memories of Snyder, with all his talk of social workers. He should’ve thought of that before he said it. How could he have been so stupid?  
  
But then Crutchie looked at Jack properly, and there was a ghost of a smile on his face. He stretched out his hand to ruffle Charlie’s hair.  
  
“That’s... That’s a real nice thing to wanna be, Charlie.”  
  
Crutchie lay back on the grass, relieved, listening happily as Race chattered on about his famous Mario Kart career. Why not? Like Jack said, they could be anything they wanted when they grew up. Anything at all...  
  
Except... Less than a year later, Charlie Morris was in hospital for the first time. And when he left, he didn’t get to run around the park with Race anymore.  
  
Six years after that, he was in hospital for the second time. And he wasn’t sure anymore if he would get to grow up at all.  
  
Crutchie opened his eyes and sat up. The endless, anxious thoughts were buzzing through his brain like a swarm of mosquitoes, sucking away any hope of sleep, and his leg was twinging painfully. It was almost routine at this point. He threw back the quilt, grabbed his crutch and set off toward the roof- the same as he did every night recently when he couldn’t sleep.  
  
It had been weeks since his birthday. The hospital had finally relented and let him go home, just until... Well, there was no point having him wait around there for two days until the surgery, and there was nothing they could really do for him until then. It really was like he was nine years old again.  
  
Crutchie had never been so glad to see his own bedroom as he had been these past two days, or to sit in the living room playing video games with his friends, or to curl up on the sofa and watch a movie with Medda and Jack. But two days had passed in the blink of an eye, and it was happening tomorrow. Dr Meyer had talked them through all the ins and outs and complications of the surgery, but Crutchie knew that in the end there were only really two ways it could go. It could work, or it could not.  
  
All they could do now was hope.  
  
Crutchie limped up the stairs, but when he reached the rooftop he stopped short. There was another figure leaning against the railing, gazing out onto the lights of Manhattan, wrapped up in one of Davey’s sweaters. A blank sketchbook was lying open on his lap and his pencil was poised to start drawing, but he wasn’t moving.  
  
“Jackie?” Crutchie called uncertainly.  
  
Jack turned his head slightly. “Kid. Shouldn’t ya be in bed?”  
  
“Um...” Crutchie moved towards him. “I... I couldn’t sleep.”  
  
Jack nodded as Crutchie sat down next to him. “How ya feelin’?”  
  
“Fine.”  
  
Jack looked at him, and Crutchie could tell he was trying to read his mind. “Really?”  
  
“Um.” Crutchie paused for a second, bracing himself. “Well, it... Hurts, a little. Not much. And I’m kinda nervous. But I’ll be okay.”  
  
“Okay.” Jack cleared his throat. “Well, I’m glad you told me.”  
  
“You alright, Jack?” Crutchie tapped the blank sketchbook lightly. “You ain’t drawin’.”  
  
Jack’s eyes drifted back to the streetlights. “I was just thinkin’. I sorta had an idea.”  
  
“Yeah?”  
  
“Well, summer vacation’s comin’ up fast.”  
  
“Uh huh?”  
  
“I got a driver’s license- finally.”  
  
“Where’re ya goin’ with this?”  
  
“I got a minivan.”  
  
“Did Mr Kloppman actually _say_ ya could use his minivan? Cause he didn’t really seem totally in love with the idea when ya first brought it up-”  
  
“Would ya pipe down while I tell ya my brilliant plan?” Jack swatted at his shoulder, smirking a little. “I’m thinkin’... Road trip.”  
  
“Road trip?”  
  
“Yeah! You, me, Davey, Kath and all the guys. As many people as we can fit in Kloppman’s hunk of junk. And then we drive down to Santa Fe.”  
  
“...Santa Fe?”  
  
“What, is there an echo out here?” Jack rolled his eyes, laughing shakily. “Hey, don’t look at me like that. I know I... I don’t need Santa Fe anymore. And I know it isn’t some perfect place that can fix everythin’. I just... I think it’d be nice to see it, all of us together.”  
  
“No, it... It’s a great idea, Jack.”  
  
Jack stared down at the sketchbook and pressed his pencil against it again. “It don’t even have to be Santa Fe. We can go anywhere. I don’t care.”  
  
Crutchie swallowed. “Jack-“  
  
“What’s the thing Medda said once? It’s about the people, not the place. So it don’t matter where we go, as long as-“  
  
The pencil snapped.  
  
“Jack.” Crutchie placed his hand gently on his brother’s arm.  
  
Jack took a deep, shuddering breath. “It’s gonna be okay, Crutch. I promise.”  
  
“I know.”  
  
“You’ll be there.”  
  
“Yeah, I’ll be there. Ridin’ palominos, right?”  
  
“Right,” Jack chuckled, his voice cracking. “You’re gonna be okay. I know you are. Ya don’t hafta worry.”  
  
“Yeah.” Crutchie leaned his head on Jack’s shoulder. “You wanna go inside and get some sleep?”  
  
“Not yet.” Jack curled himself into Davey’s sweater a little further, as though his boyfriend was right next to him, holding him and whispering words of comfort into his hair. Somehow, he looked both a million years older and yet so much younger than seventeen. “Just one more minute.”  
  
“Okay.”  
  
Crutchie followed Jack’s gaze into the sky, where a couple of stars were visible through the polluted smog of Manhattan. They sat quietly at the edge of the roof for a little longer, drinking in the ghostly glow of the streetlights and the eerie wailing of the traffic far below.  
  
Crutchie was scared. More than that, he was terrified. But right then and there, sitting at the edge of Jack’s penthouse, he made up his mind.  
  
He wasn’t going anywhere. Not yet. He wasn’t going to leave the people he loved behind. When tomorrow came, he was going to fight harder than he’d ever fought in his entire life, and he would be okay. When summer came, he would be there, climbing into a beat-up minivan with his family and going to Santa Fe, or wherever else they decided to go. It didn’t matter.  
  
They were all going to be okay.

**Author's Note:**

> LET THIS FANFIC BE A LESSON TO YOU ALL!  
> That's right, y'all, this slightly angsty story was a LESSON all along! *cue evil laughter*  
> If you ever feel like you're a burden to the people you love, remember that you are NOT. They love you, and they want you to be okay. If you're ever struggling, whether it be with your physical health, mental health, emotional health or any of the other healths, remember that the people you care about are here for you. You're never a burden, and you're not alone.  
> You're all amazing, and you can get through this.  
> Lots of love from an Internet Stranger,  
> HufflepuffHorizon xx


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